


Breaking Point

by Fumiko



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Auror work, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, MACUSA, Mind alteration, Non-Consensual Memory Modification, mind wipe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:52:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8684770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumiko/pseuds/Fumiko
Summary: You are an auror of the MACUSA, going into the field is everyday work for you. But one day you have to do something you really don't want to. Your boss and old mentor Percival Graves is there with you.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out much darker than I originally expected. Then again, I always wondered if all wizards are just fine with the mandatory memory modification of muggles/no-majs.

“Hey there, Perc.” You plonk down on the edge of your superior’s desk with a cup of self-stirring coffee in your hand and your nose immediately buried in a new case file from said desk. You glance up from the report about the growing black market for potions in Bronx to see the stern glare of Percival Graves directed at you from under his thick frowning eyebrows. You roll your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips, and stand up.

“Sorry, sorry. Good morning, boss. This is me checking in.”

The way you intone the more formal greeting makes him snort.

“One could think you’re not respecting me as much as you should, Y/N,” he comments dryly, one eyebrow rising.

Your lips quirk upwards into a grin that you quickly hide by taking a sip from your mug.

Without another word, he holds out his hand. Equally wordlessly, just with a quiet sigh, you close the file and hand it over to him.

“Thank you,” he says pointedly and flips it open.

You roll your eyes again and head out of his office into the shared auror’s office and inside over to your own desk, again taking a sip from your coffee. A small memo flutters down onto your desk just as you’re pulling out your chair to sit down. You take your time getting comfortable in your place before you pick up the insistent piece of paper.

Unfolding it, you suppress a groan. Your annual wand check is overdue and the registration office sent you a reminder. You play around with the memo, contemplating whether or not you should ask Graves for half an hour to get it done right now. Calculating how annoyed he might be with you for that, you drink your coffee until the door creaking makes you look up.

Graves strides inside, a memo of his own in his hand, and looks across the room. “Y/L/N, with me!” he barks, “Connors, you too! We’ve got a 3a 5b at Central Park.”

Out of a reflex trained over the last three years you are up and ready to go before Graves has finished his sentence, memo and mug discarded on your desk. With a mandatory pat on your hip you check that your wand is in its holster as it should be. Better safe than sorry. With three long strides, you are at Graves’ side. Cornelius Connors, your colleague, is quick to join you.

Graves leads the way out of the office and towards the main entrance to get to the apparation area. The three of you position yourselves back to back, wands drawn. “Central Park main entrance,” Graves instructs, “In three, two, one.”

You focus your thoughts on the cobble stones leading from the street into the park, the lush green grass on both sides, the huge trees casting shadows and their leaves rustling in the air. The familiar feeling of being pressed through a tube whisks you away with a plop and a blink later you find yourself right in the spot you thought of, back to back with your fellow aurors.

A scream draws your attention and makes you raise your wand in turn. Maybe twenty feet away, a purple and a yellow flash of light meet each other with a thundering crack and burst into hundred tiny sparks. You have not even processed the sight completely, as Graves already rushes past you, wand discreetly lowered at his side, and no doubt already planning how to keep all no-maj witnesses in the area to obliviate them while breaking up the two duelists. And that kind of experienced oversight is why, of course, he is the head auror and not you. Eagerly you await his orders, following him on his heels.

“Connors,” Graves instructs, “Seal off all exits; invisible walls, no-maj repelling and notice-me-not modifications. Add soundproofing as well. It’s enough no-majs in the park already, we don’t need any more noticing this ruckus. Y/L/N, you start rounding up the non-majs in here. Question them and obliviate them accordingly. Keep a head count, there will no unmagical person leave without a memory alteration. I’ll break up these two troll heads.”

“Yes, boss!” you and Connors echo as one and turn around to get to your tasks.

For a moment, you wish Graves had given you the task of sealing the place off. You don’t particularly like to modify or erase memories. Of course, you see the necessity for it but the intrusion into another person’s mind still makes you uncomfortable. Graves knows that. This problem first took roots during your apprentice days when you learned how to modify memories. Ever since your old mentor has been trying to desensitize you by giving you the task of altering the minds of no-maj witnesses. You know he doesn’t do it to spite you – he never would. You were his apprentice and for that kind of behavior he likes you far too much, although he’d never admit that. He just thinks repeating an unpleasant task over and over again will at some point make it mundane and thus take away the unease. He told you that much. So far it has not worked but the aurors’ numbers are far too thin to refuse to do necessary work. It is part of your job, so you have to suck it up, you tell yourself firmly as you round up the first no-maj.

You hear Graves bellowing, “MACUSA! Drop your wands right now!” which is followed by a string of colorful swears. Since you don’t recognize the voice, it is probably one of the duelists who has a dirty mouth. You throw a quick Hominum Revelio to get a headcount of the present no-majs. Eighteen in total. That could have been a hell of a lot worse.

“Good day, sir,” you greet the first one you approach. He looks at your wand with widened eyes before said eyes flicker to the duelists and back to you. His tongue darts out and wets his lips. “Don’t worry, sir, I’m here to see that you are unharmed from this incident,” you tell him in your ‘soothing professional voice’ and throw in a smile for good measure, “Can you please tell me what exactly happened?”

Again, the no-maj’s gaze flickers to the duelists, then to your wand and back at you.

“I – I’m not sure,” he stutters finally, “I ju-just came here to – to sit on a bench and eat the sandwich my Lizzie made me for lunch break. An-and suddenly some sort of m-m-maniac starts yelling at a weirdo in a c-cape of all things to wear and before anyone can call for a police officer, they have these silly wooden sticks in their hands – n-no offence – and one started shooting fire and the other froze it and they threw lights at each other all while yelling gibberish!” His voice grows higher, faster, hysterical the more talks and his breaths grow shorter and more shallow.

“Did any bystanders get hit by one of the lights?”

“I d-don’t know, I wasn’t really paying attention to much beside them.”

“Absolutely understandable, sir,” you soothe him, “If I may ask you to keep still? Don’t worry, I’ll just check you over. To be safe.”

He nods warily. You smile again, you hope it is in an encouraging way. Then you raise your wand, clear your throat and take a deep breath, keeping the wand steadily trained on the no-maj. The moment stretches and you force yourself to open your mouth.

“Obliviate.”

The word leaves your mouth not half as confidently as you would like, but a silvery mist escapes your wand anyway and settles around the no-maj’s head. His eyes go blank, his jaw slacks and you can not quite quench the guilt rising in your stomach pit. You swallow, loudly, and look around, counting the remaining seventeen no-majs. Another sigh tries to escape your throat, but you force it down and cross the distance to the next witness.

It takes you time – more than you like and probably more than Graves approves of – to work your way through all the memory modifications. Connors already took the two idiots back to the congress center to take their evidence.

Finally, you approach the last two no-majs. A mother and her little daughter. Your heart already breaks at the thought of what you have to do to the girl and your wand hand trembles slightly.

“Hello, ma’am,” you turn to the mother first and try to ignore the small pair of bright blue eyes staring at you fearfully. The woman trembles and presses the child in her arms closer to her chest.

“Please,” she whispers, “Please don’t hurt my little girl, please don’t-“

You raise your empty hand consolingly. “I’m not here to hurt you or your child, ma’am,” you assure her, “I’m really not. I want to make sure she is alright. Okay?”

“Wh-what happened here?” she asks instead of answering, “What were these men?”

“Ma’am, please. No one here is a danger to you or your daughter anymore. Everything will be fine. Obliviate.”

The silver mist claims the mother’s true memories and you look at the girl. Your hand trembles. Wide eyes stare unblinkingly at you, filled with terror and glittering with so far unshed tears. Small hands are gripping the mother’s blouse tightly. A lower lip trembles. You open your mouth. No sound escapes. The word is caught in your throat. Your wand trembles because of your shaking hand. You draw a hollow breath, trying to ready yourself. But you cannot become ready to do that.

“Y/N, are you done?”

You flinch violently as Graves’ voice reaches you, accompanied by the sound of steps closing in. Shuddering, you turn around, still trembling, mouth open and eyes wide, and find him looking at you, worry flashing in his gaze when he notices the state you are in. As you move to face him, he can see the woman behind you. You see his gaze settling on the girl immediately. He closes his eyes, understanding and sympathy visible on his face. He takes a deep breath as well before opening his eyes again, looking at you right away. “Did you already-?”

You shake your head frantically before he even finishes his question.

“We have to.”

You don’t want to hear his words, shake your head again, even more violently now, and shudder.

“Y/N, listen to me,” he orders sternly and you cannot help but obey and look at him, “We have to. It’s the law.”

“P-please don’t ask me,” you whimper and feel your own lower lip trembling.

“I’m not asking you, Y/N,” Graves replies, his voice thick but his words unrelenting, “I have ordered you to. You have to do this.”

“I can’t-“

“You have to. If you can’t, you are unfit to be an auror any longer.”

Your gasp is quiet, nearly silent, but to you it seems like the loudest sound in the world while his words reverberate in your head. Being an auror is your calling. It is what you do best.

“You need to overcome this, Y/N. I’ve got to be able to rely on you. To trust you to get your work done. To fulfill the orders I’m giving you. That is why I can’t take this task from you right now. You have to do it. We are aurors. We have to do things we are uncomfortable with.”

You look at the girl, but you can bear to look at hear for only a second before you look back at Graves, your eyes pleading. To no avail.

Trying to keep yourself from crying on top of everything, you try to steady your breath. It sounds rushed and uncontrolled even to your own eyes. Swallowing, you thrust your wand back up, pointing at the little girl who curls into her mother’s side, who is still kept in a state of drowsiness from the spell. Everything inside you screams at you to put down your wand, to turn away, to not do it. Tears press against the back of your eyes. You blink quickly to stop them before they can spring and bite your lower lip in an attempt to stop yourself from shaking like a leaf. Your wand still trembles. You feel Graves taking another step, until he stands right behind you, placing a comforting hand on your left shoulder blade and his body radiating a warmth your own body practically absorbs.

A tear slips and you screw your eyes shut, whispering, sobbing, “Obliviate.”

You cannot watch. You cannot even look once. You cannot open your eyes to confirm that the spell works. You cannot. Just cannot.

Another sob, loud and ugly, tears its way through your throat as you turn away from the child, your eyes still firmly closed. Strong arms tighten around you, press you into the warm, large body of your former mentor. A consoling hand brushes over your hair, up and down, a “Shhhh” is whispered into the top of your head.

And then you are whisked away, pressed through the magic tube again, taken back to the MACUSA’s apparation area side-by-side. You grip the back of Graves’ cloak, fists full of smooth clothing, and shed your tears on his vest. He does not let go of you. Instead, he tightens his hold on you, drawing you even closer to him. He rubs his hands over your back in comforting circles. A quick kiss is breathed onto the top of your head, so missable that you are not even sure you don’t imagine it.

“Shhhh,” he soothes you again, “Shhhh. It’s alright. You did good. It was an awful task and you did it. I am proud of you.”

Your sobs are dying down, ever so slowly. Your erratic breath returns to normal as well, and you don’t tremble any longer.

Graves puts his hands on the sides of your face and gently turns it up so you can look at him. You see kindness and sorrow and sympathy in his brown eyes that are focused on you completely.

“I am sorry you had to do that, Y/N.”

“Please don’t make me ever do that again,” you whisper. Your voice is still horribly shaky.

“I can’t do that, Y/N. You know that.”

“Please,” you are practically begging by now.

For an awful long moment, he says nothing. Then, “Alright. Because it’s you. I won’t. I promise.”

He pulls you close to his chest again, and you welcome every little bit of comfort he offers you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading. This fic is cross-posted on my imagine blog imagine-yourself-away.tumblr.com  
> Please drop by if you want to request something.


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